


Unauthorized Literature

by imdex



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: BDSM, Because there's going to be more added as I go, Cultist Erandur, Doggy Style, F/M, Frottage, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Making Love, Making Out, Making Up, Male-Female Friendship, Multi, Necromancy, Necrophilia, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Skyrim Kink Meme, There's A Tag For That
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-27
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2018-12-20 14:30:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 9,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11922879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imdex/pseuds/imdex
Summary: When the Dragonborn finds herself as the star in a series of mysterious(and sexual) literature, how far will she have to venture to find the source of the books, and what will she face along the way as she retrieves them?





	1. Forward.

**Author's Note:**

> Currently, I'm on vacation and I'm about to go hit the beach. I will fix the tags and all that when I get back home. Expect this to be slow going like the rest of my life. :)  
> 

Dawnstar wasn’t Imani’s favorite place. Sure, there were a few faces the Breton enjoyed seeing and catching up with over drink at the inn. Most people overlooked her, thankfully. Today was different. As Imani paced up to the inn she was well aware of people pausing and staring at her as they whispered to each other. Some wore disapproving glares, others wore smirks, and a few openly looked her over before flushing or squirming on their feet.

She ducked her head and made for the inn, desperate to get away from the unwanted attention. She loathed it when people realized she existed and it appeared the entire population of the hold did. She’d hardly crossed the threshold when a hush fell over the patrons within. Even though she wore her Nightingale armor she flushed as the men picked her apart as if she wore nothing at all while the women fixed her with glares of disgust.

A hand curled suddenly around her upper arm and she found herself quickly being led toward a room, catching the snickers and whispers of ‘creating the scene himself’. Imani stumbled forward as they shoved her inside and closed the door loudly behind them. She turned around to see the one she’d come to catch up with… and very quickly found herself shriveling beneath his hard look.

“My dear, I am aware that we all have hobbies-talents if you will-but what you’ve done is most uncalled for.”

Imani balked and tugged at her cowl to allow him to see her face. She hoped the Dunmer would see loud and clear her clear fear and confusion and by the softening of his features she figured he quite did.

“I… I don’t know what you're talking about! Why was everyone looking at me? What did I do? Why are you upset with me, Erandur?”

His brows inched closer together and his lips pursed.

“You truly don't know, do you?"

“No!” Imani felt her anxiety rise and she paced over to the bed and quickly seated herself upon it.

“I see.” Erandur followed slowly and eased himself to sit beside her. The mer soothed his hand against her back, mindful of her quiver and bow, and rubbed gently. “So it isn’t you that has written the book?”

“The book? What? I-I’ve never written...well…” Imani flushed and was painfully aware of Erandur’s gaze. Problem was, Imani did have hobbies and(unfortunately)one of them was writing fiction.

“So you did publish this?”

“No!” she exclaimed. “I’ve never… I’ve never published…”

The Dunmer reached into his robes and in the next second a small book was placed on her lap.

“You didn’t do this?”

Imani stared at the hastily crafted cover and frowned.

“No. A-Anything I write,” she wished desperately that she could disappear, “it’s...private.”

“Open it.”

She peered up at him and noted the softer look that graced his features now. It put her at ease, somewhat, and the hand on her back returned to give her a reassuring rub. She looked at the little book curiously now and eased the cover open. In the next second, it was slammed shut and her wide-eyed gaze was fixed on Erandur.

“W-what is this?!”

“A story.”

“B-But… wha-”

“One of the citizens found it on the steps of the inn a few days ago. It’s descriptive, suggestive, and…" his eyes dropped to look at the book, "it’s about you and I.”

Imani was sure she’d never blushed so hard at any other point in her life.

“Erandur, I swear. I swear I didn’t do this. I would never…” she looked at the book with dread and trailed off. Who, then, would do something like this?

“You just admitted that you write, child.”

“Yes,” her face burned hotter, “I-I do but I would… it’s not like…”

The elf gave a gentle snort at the Breton’s distress and sighed.

“I didn’t think you would do something like this. You are much too quiet and sweet to circulate such erotica... but I had to be sure.”

“I am so so sorry, Erandur. I promise you I did not do this.”

“I believe you,” he smiled gently. “But if this one exists I can only think others may as well.”

At that the scalding blush was chased away by the paleness of alarm. Imani turned her wide eyes back to him and stared as if seeing a spirit. If this were true then not only did she have to figure out who but now where and how many.

“Help me.” She spoke quickly as the book fell to their feet and her hands curled around the fabric of his robe at his shoulders. “Please, Erandur. Please come with me. I have to find them if there are more! Please, will you help me?!”

“Peace, Imani.” His hands curled around hers and he gave them a squeeze. “I will accompany you.”

She flung her arms around him, a flurry of gratitude muffled and repeated against the cowl at his shoulder. What Imani didn’t catch was the way Erandur shifted his hips away from her as he returned her hug with a good-hearted chuckle. He glanced down at the book and recalled well the story within. Someone in Skyrim had quite the imagination and some part of him was upset that it hadn't been the Breton he held in his arms.


	2. Curiosity Killed the Sabre Cat

Imani was forever grateful for her armor and cowl. When the two had exited the inn and made a hasty retreat into the chill of Dawnstar’s evening she had been the target of many jealous glares and bitter sneers. Or perhaps it’d been the both of them if a muttered: “lucky grey-skinned bastard” was anything to go off of. 

Erandur had kindly asked to stop by the temple before they began their unlikely journey across the land to locate(and destroy, she swore)any more books that may be lingering. Imani slipped into one of the old pews and eased her hand up to lift the leather from her face. The chill of the air hit her damp face and she sighed at the relief of it. For a few blissful moments of silence, the Breton simply glanced around the room before her eyes disobediently eyed her small pack resting beside her. 

_No no NO, Imani. Curiosity killed the sabre cat!_

She was never good at listening to herself. 

The girl glanced around once more to make certain that Erandur was still gone before she flipped open the pack and fished the book out. Scooting closer to the nearest torch upon the wall, she looked around once more, hunched over protectively, and opened the book. 

 

_“Please.” the Dragonborn begged with a raspy, lust driven voice. “Please break the hold of these nightmares!”_

_Erandur thrust into her with one solid motion and relished in her scream of pure euphoria. With a tight hold on her hips, he moved against her in a sinfully brutal dance of need. The elf watched with hooded eyes the way her buttocks bounced with every powerful impact of his hips. The way her raven waves danced in the light of the all-powerful Skull. The sounds she made caused his throat to tighten and his lips peeled back to show a fearful snarl._

_He pried his hand off her hip to fist it within those untamable waves and gave a mighty yank. The Dragonborn cried out and clenched tight around his probing length as he bent to leave kisses across her sweat-slicked shoulder._

_“I am your nightma-”_

 

“I believe that’s-”

Imani slammed the book shut and practically threw it back in the direction of her pack. Erandur jumped at the sudden action and stared at the Dragonborn as she stared back at him. A glance down to the book that was resting haphazardly against the pack told him enough to know why her face was burning and why her eyes were as wide as prey seeing their doom. 

Bretons and their curiosity. Though under these circumstances the Dunmer couldn’t fault her. He offered a sympathetic smirk.

“...I see.”

She scrambled up and shoved the book into the pack. 

“I-It’s not what you think.”

“You know it’s alright to be curious, dear.”

Imani shook her head rapidly. 

“This… this,” a shake of the pack, “is not… I most definitely do not write… like this.”

“Oh?”

_You never know when to shut up, Imani, you idiot!_

Erandur was quiet and by the looks of it was fighting the temptation to ask a follow-up inquiry. 

_Please, Erandur, be strong. Please don’t be like me. Don’t be a cat._

“...how then is your writing style?”

_HIRCINE’S HAIRY BALLS, ERANDUR, YOU HAD ONE JOB!_

“Worse than this. Way worse. It’s horrible, okay? I have no business writing at all.” She brushed past him and headed toward the exit. “Are you ready?”

The Dunmer couldn’t help the smirk that tugged at the corner of his lips at the Breton that now refused to face him. In the back of his mind, he chided himself for adding to her discomfort and asking such an intrusive question. Casimir, however, smiled back at him with glee and begged him to ask her more questions. 

“Indeed. Where shall we travel to first?” He asked cheerfully.

“I… I suppose it’d only make sense to head east.”

"Winterhold?"

"It’s a start."

"I’m at your side." 

The two walked toward the door of the temple and tried to ignore the uncomfortable silence that had settled in. As Erandur reached for the door to open it for the Breton a sound of a fist colliding with the other side of it shattered the silence and sent Imani into the air with a squeak. The Dunmer had hardly managed to back away from the door that had been shoved open as the person shrouded in black forced their way in.


	3. Liar

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Freaky ass necromancers, bruh.

Imani stumbled back and crashed to the ground with a cry of shock as a sizeable stone tripped her up. She heard her arrows scattering all around her and fought to regain her footing as Erandur’s voice cut through the now fiercely tense room. The stranger ignored the priest and stormed forward toward the Breton scrambling to her feet. 

"You are the Dragonborn are you not?"

Imani got to her feet and found her head snapping up and back to look up at the unreadable face of the Altmer that loomed above her. 

"What business do you have here, stranger."

Erandur was closer now and Imani could smell the twang of magicka mixed with the stale stench of death and blood permeating off the High Elf. His golden eyes glinted now with an emotion Imani had seen often from lecherous men. Lust fueled the fire melting the gold of his irises and something far more dangerous sharpened them. 

"Quite the story you’ve written, my Sweetling." 

She found herself paralyzed by anxiety though her mind screamed at her to back away to match the distance the Altmer was closing. 

"Stranger."

The warning went ignored. 

"Though I’m not quite sure how you’ve managed to enter my home, learn my secrets, and leave without my noticing…"

"S-Sir," Imani swallowed against the lump that had knotted in her throat and missed the narrowing of Erandur’s eyes. "I swear that I didn’t write whatever book you may have found. My friend,"-a point to Erandur that had edged closer and now held the handle of his ebony dagger firmly-"had a book written that featured…" Imani pursed her lips and noted the glint of excitement that flashed through the Altmer’s eyes. "The point is, I’ve never been to your home, sir. I didn’t write the book. I sincerely apologize for any offense-"

"Oh, no offense taken." the elf smiled and her breath tangled in her chest. "I only wonder, then, who you sent?"

"Please, I swear I sent nobody. If you give me the book I will destroy it. Please, I cannot apologize enough."

The Altmer looked thoughtful for the briefest of seconds and, hopeful, Imani chased away the voice that screamed danger. It was a misunderstanding. Surely an Altmer would see that. It was then that a twisted, wicked smile took his face and the voice returned to deafen her. 

"Little one, I think I shall keep the gift given to me." She could only watch his hand drop to the handle of his dagger. Frost fell from his free palm and the chill of it needled through the very fiber of the leather that failed to protect her from it. "And I think I shall take you as well." 

Erandur moved before the final word left the Altmer’s mouth. Imani clawed the bow off her back and dropped to her knees as she groped the stone floor frenziedly for an arrow as the mer fought. The second she located one it was knocked and the bow was drawn back. Like a machine, Imani fell into form and at the first catch of a targe let the ebony arrow fly. The fight had been brief but as the Altmer laid dead they saw the only loss and injuries belonged to the fallen. 

"W-Why did he…"

"He was a necromancer." Erandur spat as he sheathed his dagger. "He’s been wanted by the Jarl and locals for many months now." 

A necromancer?!

"Gather your arrows, I."

"O-Okay."

Imani obeyed as Erandur searched the dead mer with a sneer of disgust. Gathering all she could find, she righted her quiver just as she saw Erandur pull a book from a pocket within the necromancer’s robe. In three strides she was at his side and took the book without thought or hesitation. 

_A story with a necromancer. You will absolutely not read this, do you hear me, Imani?!_

"Are you alright?" Erandur inquired gently.

Imani pocketed the book and nodded with a listless chuckle. 

"I suppose I’m as okay as I can be given…" she looked at the deceased elf at her feet and sighed. Erandur’s hand closed around her shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. 

"It will be okay."

Something told her it’d be far from it. 

\---

_She felt the blood painting her mangled flesh and realized she was the masterpiece of his heart. The Dragonborn could scarcely feel the edge of the dagger now as her master moved it over his canvas. She could see the joy on his face, the awe of the beauty he’d been given brightening his angular features, and steadily began to fade out._

_"Let go." His hips rocked against hers. "Awake again my own, Sweetling."_

_It was then she became aware, in her descent into darkness, the strange feeling of awakening moving in her very soul. The craving for him, for his touch and his voice, fueled her to venture toward the bottom of the fall quicker._

_"So beautiful, so perfect." the Altmer groaned against the cool flesh of her throat, licking the necklace of crimson he’d given her. "You are-hnng!-safe now, Sweetling."_

_Arondil spent himself in her lax canal and as the warmth of his seed flooded her cold body, the Dragonborn pulled in a shuddering breath. Gone was the life she’d known moments prior. The Breton knew only him and-_

"Dare I ask what it says to have you looking so sickly?"

Again, comedically, the book was snapped shut and practically thrown across the inn room. Imani turned her gaze to Erandur, who gave a good-hearted chuckle at her distress as he knelt and picked up the discarded literature. Shaking it in her direction he approached and dropped it on the table top. 

"It is perfectly fine to be curious."

She watched him as he slipped into the seat and smiled at her gently. Imani pursed her lips and gave a long sigh. 

"You really don’t want to know. I’m sure you can imagine considering the… his _occupation._ " 

"Hmm." Erandur acknowledged sympathetically. "I dare not look for myself then."

"Thank you."

"Dragonborn, what will you do with them?"

This made Imani pause for a brief second. The logical thing to do was destroy them. Why, then, did she still possess two? _Keep them_. the idiotic part of her mind whispered gleefully. _At least to use as a reference to improve your shitty stories._

"I will get rid of them."

Erandur must’ve heard her thoughts because the sharpening of his eyes and the smallest ghost of a smirk on his lips told her his own loud and clear. 

_Liar._


	4. It's Fiction

It had taken a while for Erandur to lull the Breton back into a state of calm. He really couldn’t blame her for her uptight mood. Someone was producing rather interesting(and entertaining if he were honest)literature featuring her and had he been in her shoes(which he sort of was in the fiction that featured him)he’d be anxious to find and dispose of any that remained and localize the source. 

The two had fallen into comfortable conversations of memories past and her latest adventures when from the door sounded three knocks. Imani sent Erandur a look of anxiousness and with a frown, he rose and walked over to the door. On the other side stood yet another Altmer, this one looking less menacing and mostly uncomfortable, and Erandur’s brow rose. 

"I-I’m sorry to intrude but… is the Dragonborn-"

"Do you have a book?"

The High Elf flushed and Erandur noted the way he went stiff on his feet. 

"Yes? How did you know?"

From behind him she groaned and with a resigned sigh, Erandur stepped aside and waved the Altmer in. Respectfully, the newcomer kept his distance but Erandur noted, as he returned back to his seat, the way the mer looked caught between the expressions of lusty lover and wide-eyed virgin. 

Just as well, he mused, not many have actually seen her face after all. 

She pulled her face from her palms and looked in the direction of where the Altmer stood. She bit her lower lip and Erandur watched the mers breath get stuck in the sharp uprise of his chest. 

"Nelacar, whatever you have… I swear I didn’t do it." 

At that, Nelacar blushed and reached into his robes, producing yet another small book. 

"I… I didn’t think you would." He took a careful step closer, eyes roving her face with wonder and a hunger he tried to hide. "I figured that you didn’t… well, that is… that you wouldn’t want…" 

The Breton slipped off the bed and sighed as she closed the distance between. 

"I can’t apologize enough. Really. This-" she pointed to the book, "isn’t the only one. I don’t have any idea how many there are or who is writing them."

"Who brought this to you?" Erandur spoke up, pulling the Altmer’s attention off the human taking the book. 

"It was delivered via courier a week or so ago. I don’t know from whom. They said my request was in… and, well…" Nelacar dropped his gaze back down to the Breton that had one arm clutching the book against her chest tight while she hid her face in the palm of the other. 

"Erandur." she groaned as she turned to face him. "What do I do?!"

He sighed sympathetically as she dropped her hand away from her face to show her exhaustion and fear. 

"Peace, I." he reached toward her and without hesitation, she handed the book over. "We will find the person responsible for this."

"I suppose I shall take my leave." Nelacar muttered. Imani watched him step toward the door and guilt overtook her. 

"Nelacar, wait." 

The elf paused at the door and turned as Imani walked up to him. Erandur, thinking nothing dangerous of the Altmer, eased the newest book on top of the other two as she went to regard him once more and no doubt continue her apologies. Her muffled “mrrph!” had his attention swinging back up and with a sneer, he was on his feet and rushing for the High Elf that had her clutched to him and was kissing her fiercely.

"That’s enough!" 

Nelacar slipped one eye open and looked Erandur over slowly. Imani panted and squirmed as he pulled his lips from her and with a smirk the Altmer addressed him with a deep purr. 

"The story didn’t mention a three-way but I’d be inclined to let you join in." 

"Nelacar, oh my gosh!" Imani squirmed in his grip and Erandur flushed. 

"Put her down."

At that, Nelacar looked lost. 

"But…"

"Nelacar, put me down!"

The Altmer obeyed and the look of embarrassment that took his features as Erandur pulled the Breton back and behind him brought a 'serves you right, n’wah' through his thoughts. 

"I-I’m sorry. I just… I just got caught up in…" 

"It’s fiction." Erandur snipped. "Nothing more." 

"I understand." Nelacar whispered, looking at the Breton hopefully. "But...if you ever want what the story contains, I am at your service. It’s the least I can do to repay you for your aid in the past, Dragonborn." 

Imani stared at him with a look of sheer shock and could only squeak dumbly as the elf slipped out of the room. For a moment they stood in stunned silence. 

"Would you want me to sleep in her-"

"Yes absolutely yes sleep in here." 

"As you wish."


	5. Taken

They had hardly managed to fall asleep when the door was swung open and slammed loudly against the wall. Erandur sat upright and called the flames to his palms and Imani scrambled for her bow. The newcomer had the weapon kicked away and held his own spells in his palms as he reached down for her. She yelped and Erandur rushed to his feet still on the bed. 

"Release her!"

In the light of his magicka Erandur saw only one color reflect off the darkness around them. Erandur never realized just how cold gold could be. Imani gripped at the wrist of the hand holding her hair in a vice and whined at the pain. It turned to a yelp as the Thalmor hoisted her up to her knees and yanked her head back. 

"I said release her!" Erandur snarled. 

The Altmer paid him no attention as he looked at the face that he had never seen before. Imani, however, had seen his plenty and Erandur noted she had gone pale under his scrutiny. 

"N-no." Imani breathed. "Not you too!"

"You will come with me immediately." Ancano spoke in a voice that to any unsuspecting would scream boredom. The underlying malice in his tone was not lost to either the Breton or the Dunmer. 

"She didn’t write it." 

At that, Ancano’s attention finally landed on Erandur. 

"She didn’t write it." Erandur repeated with strength in his words he did not feel. 

"Advisor, I swear I didn’t." Imani tried to tug away from his grip. "You’re not the only one that has gotten a book. I’ve collected three so far today. Please, please I’m so sorry that this has happened." 

The burning gaze of the Thalmor dropped back down to the Breton he held at his feet on her knees. Erandur counted the seconds that passed in silence with the frantic thumping of his heart. If this Altmer dared to summon and use his magicka… Erandur wasn’t sure if he’d be able to best him. 

"You will be." 

Erandur strengthened his spell and as he readied it, Ancano’s free palm lit in a sickly green pulse. The Dunmer fell limp and crashed against the bed beneath him and could only listen to the Breton as she stumbled after the elf and pleaded with him to listen, to let her go, please! 

His heart began to crash against his chest. The spell was powerful and long-lasting. They’d be gone...she’d be gone. Sweat broke along his brow as he tried to fight the Altmer’s magic. He heard the door to the inn slam shut and the sound stole the air from his lungs. _You can’t save her. You couldn’t save them and you can’t save her._

He chased the lies away and slowly felt the sensation returning to his limbs. The Thalmor was close. By his guess, Erandur would hazard that he was at the college. The strength was seeping back into his muscles now. The pounding of his heart brought resolution instead of fear. He would save her. The moment he regained control, the mer burst off the bed, pulled on his cowl, grabbed his weapons and the books, and in a blur found himself out of the inn and into the whiteout.


	6. Midden Cell

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...not all Altmer are as they appear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT?!
> 
> IN ALMOST A WEEK MY BELOVED SOFTLYTEA WILL BE HERE! AT MY HOME! HANGING OUT WITH ME!!! 
> 
> For those who don't waste your time on my tumblr I'll fill you in. We met via-funny enough-SkyrimKinkmeme. At the beginning of this year we "broke the distance". I flew over to her happy little island country and we squealed and made a scene and it was wonderful and perfect <3 
> 
> And now we're breaking the distance again!
> 
> But you're here for the story. Right. So here's another chapter :) I'll be back whenever. Probably later after the funsies and squealing and crying and happiness.

Imani was absolutely terrified. It had been bad enough when Erandur had brought the potential of multiple books to her attention. Worse when the necromancer had found her and proceeded to try to kill her to sate his twisted lusts. Then, upon their arrival to Winterhold, Nelacar had… 

If she weren’t currently running after the brisk pace of the Altmer that held a death grip on her wrist the Breton was sure that she would’ve blushed. Not that her face wasn’t currently flushed a miserable shade of red from the constant sting of the blistering, subzero wind. The added memory of the storied coupled with the very noticeable _problem_ Nelacar had pressed tight against her stomach as he had clutched her desperately. 

"Ancano-"

"Silence." 

"Please!" Imani stumbled forward as he yanked her and pushed her toward the hatch he had just ripped open. 

"Move."

There was no room for argument… and the Midden was the last place Imani wanted to be alone with the terrifying Thalmor agent. Imani stared up at him with wide eyes and tried again to try to speak her innocence. She found herself nearly falling through the hole. 

"I said move."

The Breton scrambled down the ladder and though her instinct screamed run she found herself frozen at the bottom as the elf climbed down and quickly snatched her upper arm and was pulling her deeper into the bowels beneath the college. 

"So you like to spy." Imani squinted up at him and was cut off as she was again flung forward into a cell. Her heart dropped into her guts as she watched Ancano block the door out. "As well as write."

"Please…", she tried to appease him once again but the door to the cage was shut and her pleas were silenced.

"I must admit I wasn’t expecting such explicit and scandalous literature from a Breton that has never once shown her face and is always so quiet." Imani stared with a look torn between dumbstruck awe and absolute terror. In her many months of pretending to magic here at the college, she had never witnessed Ancano’s face do anything past an emotionless wall or annoyed sneer. 

The predatory smile that graced his features now stole the breath from her throat and brought a curious tingle down her spine. Imani’s mouth clicked shut and she backed up as he approached, pulling the buckles of his robes as he did. 

"A-Advisor, please."

"It’s always you silent ones that are the… friskiest. Feisty," his robes dropped along with his gloves. 

"Advisor Ancano-"

"The most fun." he was close enough now that she found herself trapped between ice cold stone and magicka charged body heat. "The ones you’d want in your bed."

He trapped her between his palms as he bent down and leveled his face with hers. 

"Such a pretty little Breton you are, too." 

Imani gasped and inched her head back from the heat of his breath against her cheek. 

"You play shy, _Mistress._ " 

Imani would never have been able to stop the shrill squeak that erupted from her chest at the moaned title and the lips that had pressed against her pulse. The elf, the Thalmor, the terrifying being that had from the first moment she saw him scared her, was dropping down to his knees before her. The Breton gaped as Ancano-stoic Ancano-looked up at her with a look of what she could only describe as adoration as he rested his hands respectfully upon his lap. 

"What would you have of me, my lady?"

Imani knew the look on her face was as blank and full of every emotion humanly possible all at once. She could only open and close her mouth dumbly as she tried to form words, thoughts, anything at all, and on his knees, the elf watched patiently. Finally, she managed to form one single word. 

_"What?"_

Ancano smiled.


	7. On Your Knees

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ...do not anger a cranky dunmer.

Had Imani read the book that night after Erandur had safely returned them both back to the inn, she would’ve been made aware of a very specific fetish the Thalmor Advisor held near and dear to his heart. Had Erandur snuck a glance at the hidden pages when he thought his friend in slumber or lost in lazy minutes of relaxation, tuning her bow or sharpening her sword, he would have found that the Breton hadn’t been in danger. 

The scene that greeted Erandur-wherewith after he located the nearly covered tracks left by the Altmer that had stolen away Imani-had caused him to stumble to a halt and stare in disbelief. 

“E-Erandur!” 

The Dunmer blinked and slowly lowered his magicka charged hands. 

There before the girl _on his knees and stripped from the waist up_ knelt the Thalmor. The Thalmor that had promptly whipped his head around to level the dark elf with a predatory glare at his intrusion. Erandur felt the surge of Ancano’s magic before it ever manifested in his hands. 

“Did I tell you to move?” 

The Altmer froze in place at her lowly hissed question. 

“I didn’t think so.” Imani whispered, idly reaching a hand holding the slightest tremble towards his hair. “Be a good boy and sit still.” Her fingers combed gently through the snowy strands and with an imparting look of bitterness, Ancano settled back down and faced her once more. 

“Yes, mistress.” 

“Good.” Imani willed firmness in her voice that she didn’t feel. “Now, stay put.” 

Ancano didn’t move as the Breton slipped past him and walked briskly up to a stunned Erandur. 

“Hey, so...um…” she turned and motioned to the statuesque Altmer. “...this is happening.” 

“I…” Erandur blinked. “I see that.” 

“I don’t know what to do!” Imani lamented quietly. “He thinks I...that I’m...I don’t know what to do! I can’t… we can’t just leave him here.” 

“We also can’t risk him figuring out that you didn’t create whatever is written in his book.” 

Imani paused. 

“I...I don’t.” she turned to Ancano. “Um…” she cleared her throat and forced the facade of strength forward. “Pet?” 

Ancano rose and turned on his heels to face her. 

“Mistress?” 

“Where-”

“Where are your manners?” 

Imani felt her mouth drop open and hang there. She noted that Ancano had bristled almost violently but the Breton paid him no mind. Instead, Imani turned her attention to her follower, who was currently glaring searing hot daggers at the Altmer. 

“That is no way to address your mistress.” Erandur hissed. “On your knees.” 

Ancano’s mouth dropped open, threat ready on his tongue, when Imani straightened herself, faced him, and put on a glare that looked convincing. 

“Obey.” 

Ancano went rigid, his golden eyes lingering on Erandur for a second more, before he growled lowly and sank back down to his knees. 

“Now, you will tell your mistress where she can locate the publication of your pathetic fantasies.” Erandur growled. 

Ancano held a look of bitterness on his face and spat his response lowly. 

“It is in my robes. In the inner pocket on the right side.” his gaze swung over to Imani. “Mistress.” 

“Good.” Imani glanced up at Erandur and gave him a nod of approval. 

As he started to pass by, the Dunmer heard the hissed noise of threat that issued from the Thalmor, and paused. He was exhausted and sore from travel, the hour was late, and this elf had had the audacity to break into a private room and promptly kidnap his friend. Anger sparked through Erandur and the next moment passed as a blur to him and a slow-motion disbelief to Imani. 

Erandur faced Ancano, drew his hand back, and landed a sharp slap on the Altmer’s face. 

Imani felt the tension explode through the air. The fact that the tension had invaded her lungs and made her lightheaded was worrisome. She scrambled to keep her facade of authority on but the edges of her mask had damn well shattered and decorated her features with irreparable shock. 

“That is for speaking out of line, dog.” Erandur snarled. “Keep your worthless tongue behind your teeth.” 

Ancano refocused his gaze back on Imani who tried to soothe him with airy praises and hinting promises with a voice that was high with stunned amusement. Erandur easily located the little book and paced back to the Breton. Imani took it with a grateful smile and cast her gaze back to Ancano as she forcefully traded the smile for a tight-lipped look of disapproval. 

“You will stay here and you will think about what you’ve done. How you’ve disrespected me by bringing me here to this miserable little icebox.” Ancano’s jaw tensed. Imani paid him no mind. “You will leave when…” her eyes alighted on the hourglass tucked away by the shadows of the table it rested upon. 

She went to it immediately and flipped it. 

“Until the last grain of sand has fallen to the bottom. Do you understand?” 

Ancano drew in a breath. “Yes, mistress.” 

Imani hesitated as she went to leave, eyes lingering on the Altmer. His impassive mask was back in place but the redness of his cheek from Erandur’s surprising act of aggression withered her desire to escape. The Breton wandered over to him and gave him a gentle smile. 

Imani bent and placed a tender kiss on his no doubt throbbing cheek and smiled. 

“You’re a very good boy, Ancano.” 

She would never admit that the small little sound of adoration that escaped the Altmer in the next second did much much more to her than it had any right to. As it was, Imani drew back, smiled at him, and left the Thalmor to his punishment as she and Erandur braved the murk of the Midden to locate their way back out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I always seem to dilly with stories before I'm set to leave the country xD.  
> Side note: For all of you that do not follow my tumblr.  
> I broke my old computer. My One Note hadn't been saving any progress in my long stories folder. Long story short TPT is damn well dead. I have been unsuccessful in connecting it to a different device to back the folder. Do not expect that story to be updated any time soon. 
> 
> More chapters to this story will come eventually. I had a spur of the moment desire to write tonight and took advantage of it.  
> So...here's this.


	8. The Fool

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A three year wait is up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was fun.

It had been a wonderful day for travel. The sun was shining and though the breeze was chilled as always the warmth of the rays whispered through the veil and caressed the Dragonborn and her companion upon the wake of the wind. For this weather the two were thankful. 

Upon returning to the inn they gathered a scant amount of sleep between them. Erandur’s normal grace had been stunted by more than one occurrence of tripping and stumbling to regain his balance. Imani could feel the bags beneath her eyes and they burned, no doubt reddened from the lack of rest. 

They were both paranoid as well. On the road to Whiterun, Imani and Erandur both had stopped more than once or slowed their pace to look around. After the surprising encounter with Ancano, the Breton couldn’t help but amp up her awareness of her surroundings. 

“Are you alright?” 

“As alright as can be expected I suppose.” Imani tilted her head in his direction and offered him a small but tense smirk. “And you?” 

“If I’m honest I think I’d do well with a warm bed and about eight hours worth of undisturbed slumber.” he mused, hoisting his pack higher onto his shoulder. 

“You and me both.” she sighed. 

They walked a bit further, Dragonsreach in the distance and the sun starting to slip down westward from its arc in the sky. A grateful hum was taken by the wind as she smiled at the sight. Breezehome had never sounded so good! A good meal, a bath, and most importantly a nice warm nap in her suddenly all too appealing bed of straw. 

Her pace quickened unknowingly, Erandur’s hardly voiced sound of opposition drown by her normally silent footfalls upon the cobblestone. Yes...yes! Soon they would be able to rest and regroup without fear of-

Erandur moved quickly, fearfully so. Perhaps in her haste, she had actually slowed instead? 

“Stay behind me.” by the tone of his voice she could tell without a doubt that he had been trying to warn her of something. His voice was clipped just as it had been with Ancano in the Midden, irritation grating roughly over the syllables. “You! What do you want?” 

Imani swallowed thickly and scrambled for her cowl when Erandur was _shoved_ aside. Hard. 

The Dunmer crashed to the ice-slicked stone of the road with a spat curse in his native tongue and whatever Imani had been expecting...it sure as hell wasn’t this. After the events of the previous day, Imani was shocked. If she had a moment to think clearly she would’ve laughed at the audacity that was her life at that point. 

Necromancers wanting to fuck her dead body, kindly college rejects willing to allow her follower into their bed while she lay within, and a Thalmor advisor dropping to his knees as he awaited any demand she would have given. 

“YOU! You’re the one that wrote this book!” 

Imani blinked, dropped her mouth open for what felt like the thousandth time in a twenty-four hour span, before dumbly shutting it and blinking once more. 

“I...uh…” She flinched back as a finger was thrust toward her face. 

“You DARE write such things! About my poor mother no less?!” 

This had to be a joke. Literally. 

This Imperial ginger appeared to have a soul and that was firstly. Secondly, he was dressed as a joke. A jester? In Skyrim? A seething one too. There was a bit of spittle upon his chin from the explosive anger used in the screeched “poor” when speaking of his mother. Thirdly…

“I...sir?” Imani, uncharacteristically, looked _down_ at the pipsqueak of a man. “I didn’t write anything.”

“Oh ho! So the denying pervert lies to Cicero!” 

Erandur had risen back to his feet with the fiery wrath of a thousand burning atronachs and bore down on the jester.

“Erandur!” 

Imani watched in horror as Cicero delivered a punch to Erandur’s throat, sending the mer to his knees as he clutched at it. Imani drew her swords from her hips and hit a battle stance as Cicero moved behind Erandur and turned into a clown clothed octopus. Erandur grunted between gasps for air as the Imperial’s legs hardly managed to lock around the elf's waist. 

“Cicero, stop!” Imani cried. 

“Drop your weapons or Cicero will dispatch him.” the Imperial growled. Imani felt a very real shiver shoot down her spine at the way his lips curled into a smile that screamed complete insanity and utter danger. Ancano was starting to look like a cuddly teddy bear and Arondil suddenly resembled an adoring lover. 

“O-Okay.” Imani knelt slowly and placed her swords on the ground. “Okay...please.”

Erandur had never looked so outraged. His eyes glinted razor sharp and the desire to put away his peaceful teachings and meditation shown terrifyingly in them. In a second she was transported to the day they met. The Dreamstride...the memory…

She wasn’t looking at Erandur anymore. She was looking at who he used to be. Imani was under the bloodthirsty crimson glare of Casimir and a noticeable tremble shook her. Her breath tangled in her throat and the situation settled. She had to get Erandur away from this little creep...for his sake and not the jester. 

“Now,” Cicero frowned. “Tell Cicero how you knew about Mother!” 

Erandur growled and the daggers edged closer to his ears. Imani set her jaw and forced her voice to be firm. 

“I didn’t write any story or book you may have heard or read or have. You aren’t the only one-”

“Oh no. Cicero knows he’s far from the only one caught up in your warped schemes!” 

“If you give me the book I’ll destroy it. I’m trying to find the person responsible.” 

The daggers made contact with Erandur’s body and the elf snarled. 

“It is YOU who is responsible! Cicero has heard the other stories! Oh yes! Cicero has been stuck here-STUCK-for three years now-” 

Imani’s face went blank and even despite the dire situation found herself looking past her friend and the ranting Imperial to look up the road. There she saw a cart, the skeletal remains of a horse that looked indeed a few years dead, and a guard that had seemingly noticed the scene and was slowly making his way closer. 

“-and then you come along and write about your desire.” One dagger was pointed accusingly at her. “Your sick desires to get into Mother’s hard to reach places!” 

Imani choked on her spit as Cicero’s shrill voice rose to unimaginable levels of ear piercing annoyance and swung her gaze back down to the dire situation again as the man returned his dagger back to Erandur’s neck.

“I...hard to-”

“I AM MOTHER’S KEEPER! CICERO WILL TEND TO HER HARD TO REACH PLACES! NOT YOU!”

The tip of one ebony dagger began to disappear into Erandur’s ear canal and though Imani was sure that he was probably ready for the torment of Cicero’s voice to end in any way he could get she wasn’t about to let him die. Not today, Molag’s Balls. Not today.

“Cicero, wait!” The Imperial shut his mouth and glared at her but thankfully halted. “You said you’ve been here for three years?”

Cicero scoffed.

“You and your friend are about to be sent to the void and all you can speak of is how long poor Cicero has been stuck here?!” 

“I just...why have you stayed here?”

The guard was getting closer and was wielding a weapon. Good. She just needed to stall him. 

“Can’t you see past your vile desires to oil Mother? My Giant Cart Dog is dead! Gone! To the void!”

Imani couldn’t have stopped her snort if she’d wanted to. 

“You dare laugh at the death of my Cart Dog!?” he screeched. 

“They’re called h-horses, Cicero.” 

“You fool! Cicero knows they are horses! It was his name!” 

Imani stared and fought with all she had to shoo away the laughter that was dangerously close to erupting from her chest. It appeared that even Erandur, who was only a few perilous inches from death, was struggling to combat amusement. Scant as it was. The anger still overwhelmed a good majority of any other emotion the elf was feeling. 

“You named your horse...Giant-”

“Cart Dog, yes! Cicero loved Giant Cart Dog! Such a faithful steed! First Cicero gets stranded, then Cicero waits. Poor Cicero waits for three long years for someone to happen by to go ask the farmer on the hill to help him!” 

“You waited!” Erandur jerked, snarling as the blades bit his skin. “You waited three years for someone to walk up a damned hill for you?!” 

Cicero put his face next to Erandur’s ear and grinned hatefully. 

“Cicero couldn’t leave behind mother, oh ho ho. No…” his voice dropped. “Because perverts like her wander the lands and want to sate their desires upon his poor, sweet Mother.” The Imperial looked up at Imani again and never had she ever seen such malice come from a grown adult under the five-foot mark. “And Cicero will not allow such-”

Imani and Erandur would never know what the Imperial wouldn’t allow. The guard struck. The cast iron pan connected with the jester’s head and issuing an incredibly hollow **thunk!** , before the crazed man succumbed to the darkness the blow ushered in. 

“Talos mighty pectorals, I’ve been waiting for this moment!” the guard exclaimed as Erandur rose to his feet and Imani dropped to her knees. “Three years! Can you believe it?” 

“I can.” Erandur spat as he gathered his pack and Imani her swords. 

“Is he dead?” she asked as she stepped closer cautiously. 

“Out cold but not dead. Now I finally have a reason to take him in. Harassing the citizens. As if him whining for three years about a wheel, a coffin, and what the fool said was a giant cart dog wasn’t harassment enough!”

Imani dropped to her knees and began checking the pockets of the snoring jester. 

“That was his horse.” she mumbled, locating a small black book. “That’s what he named it.”

The guard snorted loudly. 

“A fool after all. We Nords call them by their gods-given names! My horse is called Majestic Thunder Clop. A steed worthy of Talos himself!” 

And so with the book in their possession, Imani and Erandur made way to Whiterun without further incident. It would be weeks later that they would hear word of a murdered guard, farmer, and farmer’s wife on the road north of the city. They would also hear the devastating news of a stolen horse. Taken in the dead of night by a raging jester and last seen pulling a cart at a dead gallop south. 

The mystery of Majestic Thunder Clop would be spoken of for years after the triple homicide...but the events yet to come for the legendary Dragonborn…

They’d be talking about those for centuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's funny to think of quest npc's just being forever stranded in one place until the Dragonborn comes along.  
> Until the next sudden urge to write strikes. Enjoy :)


	9. Unexpected Visitor

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to my most beloved Softlytea for her amazing inspiration with Lydia and her affliction.

The rest of the journey to the gates of Whiterun had been, thankfully, uneventful. None of the guards bothered with the two as they pressed through the city gates much to Imani’s relief and for the most part, all had seemed normal. The facade of tranquility had shattered quickly upon Imani trying to open the door to Breezehome. 

Lydia had apparently received a book. Lydia hadn’t been happy. 

“I’m sworn to carry your burdens!” The Nord had bit as she blocked the doorway and scowled angrily down at the Thane of Whiterun. “And THIS is how you treat me!?”

Imani’s face had burned hot with embarrassment beneath her cowl as the Nord slammed the little pamphlet against her chest and held it there with a finger. 

“Do you think for one second I **_enjoy_** blocking doorways, my Th…” Remembrance flashed across Lydia’s face causing her cheeks to flush even hotter than Imani’s. The Nord bristled further. “Do you believe I like it when people force me out of the way?!” 

“I...n-no, Lydia. I didn’t-”

“BECAUSE I DO NOT!” Lydia stepped back and her anger seemed to grow. “I carry all your junk and then you decide to sexualize my affliction!”

Erandur had gently cleared his throat and some part of Imani’s horrified mind collapsed into a fit of laughter as she clutched the scandalous fiction to her chest. 

“I don’t mean to intrude but...your affliction is standing in doorways?” 

Lydia’s mouth dropped open and a look of offense scrambled across her face as she gazed back at the Dunmer. 

“Do you think I chose this burden, elf?!” She spat. “Neither of you will ever understand!” 

The distraught housecarl had rounded on Imani again with a withering glare. 

“And when I say that I’m sworn to carry your burdens I do not mean...I will never mean…” Lydia stammered, her words collapsed back down her throat and her face nearly went purple as she looked the Breton over and finished her rant with a loud “UGH!” and shoved past them and stormed off toward The Bannered Mare. 

Erandur had closed the door gently behind him as Imani quietly walked toward the fire and silently fell into a chair before it. The mer had seated himself across from her and settled for observing her, the tension mounting further and further in the warm, thick air of the home until Imani sighed and placed the newest story onto her lap. 

The Breton removed her cowl and ran her hand through her messy waves as she dropped it to the floor at her feet. Her lips pursed as she lifted the little book up and stared at it unblinking for long seconds. 

“Imani?”

“Erandur, how many of these do you think there are?” 

At that he sighed and leaned forward a bit. The fire warmed his face and crept into the fibers of his robes to encase him in a pleasant heat. She looked up at him and he offered a tight smile of sympathy at how exhausted she looked. They both knew there were more...it was daunting and amusing to think of the number of these mystery tales that had popped into existence seemingly overnight. 

“You and I both know there’s no telling.” He stated gently. 

“I don’t even know how to react to this anymore.” Imani turned the book in her fingers and traced her thumb over the cover. “I’m hurt that people think that I’d write this...and I’m concerned that some of them would think I’d well,” she glanced at the satchel on her hip, “do these things with them.” 

“We are lustful creatures, Imani. Our imaginations are vast and without any limitation in sight...and you,” Imani peered up at him curiously and Erandur swallowed thickly as the book given to him played out through his imagination in the following second. He felt a blush creep up his neck to his face and a great part of him felt shamed. The unnerving truth about his story was that he had _desired_ it even before its sudden creation. The story had been a play of his primal lusts upon sneaking an unapproved glance at the Dragonborn's face when she was under the control of the Dreamstride. 

His book hadn’t been fiction. It was a fully covered account of his desires. 

The Breton’s brow arched upward and a guarded look hedged at her face. 

“And I…?”

His throat tightened. Imani knew how she looked, Imani wasn’t a fool. Imani hid from the curious view of the public eye _because_ she knew how she was received by them. For one so powerful she was so easily overwhelmed by human interaction. The Breton had trusted him greatly and proved so by allowing him to see her and that was a great honor that he had tainted before she ever considered it. 

“You’re a very beautiful woman, Imani.” Erandur swallowed thickly and a shy smile and listless laugh came from her as she tossed her gaze away, alighting it on the fire crackling softly in the pit before them. “I mean it. It’s no wonder that people would...would desire you.”

“You’re too kind, Erandur.”

“No, I’m not. It’s the truth.” He offered her a small smile as she glanced back at him. “And we will figure this out I swear it.” 

She seemed soothed by his affirmation and smiled back at him from over the flame. Imani silently agreed with a nod and looked back down to the tale she held. The silence settled between them once more and Erandur watched as her gaze flickered between the fire and the little black booklet she held, her fingertips paling further and further with every glance at the flames. 

"Will you destroy them, Imani?" 

The Breton bristled and her eyes lifted to him as if she'd forgotten he was there. She stared into his eyes in a way that made his blood run just a bit hotter beneath his skin and a small, mischievous smirk itched at the corners of her mouth. 

"Is...am I horrible for, like, wanting to..." She lifted the literature a bit higher and ducked her gaze back to it and he couldn't help the good-hearted smile that crossed his lips. 

"It is perfectly natural to be curious. Should I be honest it'd be intriguing to know what the Dominion agent's story is about."

"I still can't believe that happened." Imani shook her head as she thought back on Ancano. "Out of everyone in Skyrim it had to be him." 

Erandur leaned forward in his seat a bit and pinned her with this gaze. 

"Will you destroy them?" He questioned lowly once more, making her pause her recollection of all that had transpired and turn her attention back to him. Whatever Imani had seen in his eyes had a delicate blush rising to her cheeks and her fingers trembled ever so slightly. As she had done in the cozy inn room in Winterhold, Imani logically fought the good fight. The fire was there before her and with one flick of her wrist, the stories would be forever lost. 

...but as in Winterhold that little voice tiptoed in and suffocated the sensible voice. What good was a story if it was never told? 

"I will get rid of them." 

The declaration was followed by a deceitful smile that she prayed passed as sincere. Her heart fluttered in her chest as Erandur sat back, eyes sharp as they were then, with a knowing smirk on his lips. 

_Liar_

\---

Imani flinched at every sound and for what felt like the thousandth time paused her reading to look around her room anxiously. Reading Nelacar's lust for oral and Lydia's account of being taken advantage of upon being over-encumbered was bad enough for her to do, but this? This was _really_ wrong. Confirming she was still alone her eyes glued themselves back to the story before her. Her heart skipped as her eyes drank in every word and her thighs pressed tighter together. 

Ever the submissive, Imani couldn't help the primal lust that accompanied the scene her and the Thalmor were painting in her imagination. Ancano had always scared her, as had most Altmer, but she would never have expected anything like this. 

_The Breton stalked around her prize as he knelt in the halo of piercing, golden light, appreciating the way it played along the flawless flesh of the Altmer. A golden idol rested with his wrists bound to the anchor on the ground before her and with a smirk on her lips she stopped circling and found her voice a commanding purr._

_"Ancano."_

_The elf bristled, his eyes trained on the ground, his cock rigid and throbbing before him._

_"What do you desire?" I purred, her lustful gaze trained on the long, thick member pulsing and oozing crystalline dew onto his upper thighs._

_"I desire you, my lady." Ancano's voice was soft but his words trembled. He heard the whip drag the floor as the human sauntered up behind him before the silence again settled in._

_The Thalmor had been acquainted with whips throughout his many centuries of life. Be it from agitated mentors or bold lovers, Ancano had felt the bite and had delivered it on many occasions. The stinger whip she held cracked against the skin of his upper back suddenly and he failed to cage the cry it drew from his lips._

_"What do you desire specifically, little elf?"_

_The leather connected lower and his skin sang with the searing burn of discomfort._

_"A-Anything you de-"_

_The next strike was harder and Ancano's voice was lost in the wave of pain that trapped his breath in his throat._

_"I asked what **you** desire, Thalmor dog. Now answer me!" _

_Ancano's vision sprinkled black as the Breton followed her demand with three rapid but blindingly hard strikes to his body. The haze of agony started to dissipate and he became aware of the tears that had sprung from his eyes and the miserable flush of color to his cheeks. Her touch upon his hypersensitive back caused him to whimper and squirm a bit, fighting to obey her gentle shush even as his mind demanded he fight or run._

_I trailed her fingertips along the massive rises left by the whip and Ancano groaned as her lips pressed against his shoulder. Her breath was an inferno against his ear as she tucked his hair back behind it and her words were a sweet melody of promise._

_"Tell me, Ancano."_

_"...I..." He swallowed and worked desperately to recompose himself and leaned into her touch as she rubbed the delicate point of his ear slowly. "I want t-to bury myself in you, my lady. I wish to take you over and o-over and fill your sweet quim unt-til I'm empty."_

_She sat silently beside him, her breath puffing softly against his neck as she pondered over his confession._

_"A very tempting desire, my dear Ancano." She whispered against his ear, her voice lower, breathy. "And you do have such a lovely cock."_

_Nothing could have stopped the sound that left the Altmer's mouth upon her hand making a sudden appearance around his jutting cock. I smiled against his ear as goosebumps rose up along his body as she gave the throbbing flesh a pump._

_"How would you like to take me first, Ancano?"_

_"F-From b-behind!" The mer bit from behind grit teeth as he fought the urge to buck his hips against the teasing touch of the Breton._

_"Would you pull my hair, Ancano? Would you bruise my hips as you held them?"_

_The elf groaned loudly and relished in the breathless gasp given by the Breton. His cock lurched and she caught up the hot gush of pre-cum into her palm, using it to stroke his cock a bit faster._

_"Ye, g-gods! Yesss!"_

_He couldn't stop the quaking rock of his hips against the delicious contact._

_"I have no doubt you would." Her voice was heavy with lust. "And I am feeling generous to-"_

Imani nearly jumped out of her skin and the hand that had snuck its way between her thighs was quickly removed as a loud series of knocks sounded downstairs at her front door. The Breton scrambled to tuck away the book beneath her pillow and dispelled the orb of light she'd summoned. Like a child at risk of being caught, she donned the facade of slumber and only when a far more gentle set of knuckles tapped on her doors did she give up her act. 

The Breton rose out of her bed and nervously smoothed her tunic down with one hand as she tried to make herself look presentable...and innocent enough. Upon opening the door, Imani's mask of sleepy confusion was quickly wiped away. She shook her head rapidly and the irritation and fear settled in as she stood helplessly under the red glare of the one standing before her as Erandur backed away. 

"Not you too!" Imani breathed, eyes wide with apprehension. 

"I may not like you but even I know you wouldn't be foolish enough to do something this tawdry." The mer growled, a sneer curling her lip. 

She sighed and Irileth's words only soothed her for half a second before dread widened her eyes further. 

"Oh...oh Mara...I-Irileth-"

The Dunmer crossed her arms and Imani's heart dropped. 

"Jarl Balgruuf would like to see you."


End file.
